Hello
by Mystic83
Summary: Sudden fits of anger. A frustration he can’t understand. Feelings of pain that he welcomes with open arms. Something is haunting Sark’s every move.


An insanely loud buzzing abruptly rang through his ears, and Sark reached over to slap his alarm off. He squinted at the harsh light of day filtering in from the window in his bedroom. Getting out of bed in the morning wasn't as easy as it had once been.

With a sigh, he sat up and peered outside. "Great. Another rainy day."

The anger he had been feeling for the past two days filtered back to the top of his mind. His ribs ached slightly as he stood up, signs of another job completed. Though in his mind, he knew that this last one hadn't been just another job. He stumbled over to the bathroom.

His reflection stared back at him. The bruises lining the right side of his face and trailing the way from his chest to his hip were familiar. They were like every other bruise he had sustained since he could walk. Painful, but a battle scare he was proud to have.

What was different were the bags under his eyes and the complete look of fatigue written on his face. Anger bubbled out at the physical signs of his weakness. He punched the mirror as violently as if it had attacked him.

The temper wasn't new, either.

Shards of glass went flying everywhere. He didn't care. His hand was cut in multiple places. The dull ache of pain was familiar to him.

He watched a small trickle of blood roll down his palm and drip off his fingers into a small puddle on the tile. It was nice to know that he could still bleed. He was still human somewhere deep within the monster. He was alive.

Without another thought to the mess he had created, he turned the showerhead on as hard as he could and stepped inside. He braced himself against the shower walls and let the water do its best to wash away his pain.

It didn't help. Nothing ever really did.

His closet was full of suits he had acquired over the years from the exotic locales he was forced to work in. He no longer carried about looking his best. It was routine. Routine wasn't something he wanted anymore. It hurt too much.

He took one last look at his reflection in the bedroom mirror. The weariness was still on his face, but now he could pass it off as just another rough mission. Irina would never think twice about questioning him. He had finally learned to hide the pain.

His BMW was in the same position he had left it the night before, half in the yard and half in the driveway. He cared for that car too much. He understood that now. "Material possessions come and go," he whispered, bleeping off the car alarm.

He had purchased this car for its ability to break the law with ease. It gave him a reason to cut the ties that bound him and fly free. His job demanded so much of him that it was exhilarating to let down the walls of control he had to maintain to stay alive. Chancing death had become his favorite pastime on and off the field. This car just made it a lot easier.

Now, he felt himself push the accelerator down as far as it could go. There might be repercussions, but he didn't care.

Seeing everything pass him by in a distant blur actually gave him a moment of peace from the thoughts plaguing his every fiber of being. He sensed the things in the world around the car, but he couldn't see them exactly. The world didn't seem real to him.

That was what he wanted.

He checked his appearance in the rearview mirror after parking his car in the underground garage. The speed had worn a little more of the fatigue off his face, but it had done nothing for the bruises. That was good. The bruises were a constant reminder to him of the price he had paid for letting himself feel.

Sliding a pair of sunglasses onto the bridge of his nose, he grabbed his briefcase and exited the car. He took his time walking through the building. His usual demeanor of calm aloofness eliminated the possibility of any of his fellow employees approaching him for some idle chitchat. Now the addition of the visible battle scars made them purposefully avoid eye contact. It was always that way when he came back from an absence.

The elevator ride seemed to take forever. He had always loved the freedom one felt in relinquishing control to a machine. It was so unnatural. Being lifted hundreds of feet into the air at the press of a button no bigger than a quarter. Now he yearned to stay firmly rooted to the ground.

And today wasn't even what he would call a bad day.

His office was in a secluded corner on the forty-seventh floor, an irony that didn't go unnoticed. He had requested this office for its closeness to where the action was happening. Every decision he had made in the past three years boiled down to that. He knew where the action was and the exhilaration it brought. He fed on it.

More preciously, he fed off what it did to her.

Which would explain a lot about where he was today.

Pushing open the door to his office, he noticed the vacant sparseness of it. He never found the time to develop his life beyond these walls, and yet, looking it over, it wasn't much. It couldn't be questioned that he lived for the job. The job was all he had.

He sat down at the desk and clicked his laptop on. A message immediately popped up.

It seemed Irina felt that they needed to talk about what had happened in more detail. He knew she had a right to request he give her more information. That didn't mean he was going to do it.

He leaned back in his chair and shut his eyes. There was absolutely no noise in his office, and yet his head wouldn't stop ringing. He couldn't concentrate.

"You're pathetic you know that," said a voice from in front of him.

He cracked open one eye and took a good look at the slender, brown-haired woman currently leaning on the corner of his desk. "I knew you would be here, Sydney."

She shrugged. "I'm always here, aren't I?" She reached out and touched his cheek lightly. "How are the bruises, Julian?"

"They're healing." He felt her finger lightly trace the blue and purple outline on his face. "You always enjoyed viewing your handiwork. I think you might have surpassed yourself on this one."

"One last hurrah, right? I didn't realize I was hitting you that hard." She stood up from the desk. "I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize. It doesn't suit you."

The phone rang, cutting through the light tension in the room. He picked it up after a moment. "Sark."

It was just another underling interrupting him. There was always some question or another that everyone seemed to think he was the only one that could answer. For years, he had tried so hard to prove to everyone that he was worthy of their admiration and loyalty. He strove to be the one they came to when they were unsure of something. Now he just wished they'd all go away.

He heard the door shut softly as he set down the phone receiver. She was gone.

He threw himself into his work. There was always another mission that needed planning, another twenty scenarios he had to run through his head. Irina had said that his fascination with details was what made him such a good spy. He thought it was his ability to do the things that everyone else refused to do.

Frustration crept into his head so easily. It was like a constant throbbing at the base of his temples. There was a voice in his head constantly prodding and poking, trying to get him to admit that he wasn't the best there is at what he does anymore.

He used to think this voice was his father's. When he was little, Andrian Lazarey always made it clear that Julian was not the son he had wished for. He was too soft. It had taken him years to realize that his father was wrong. He was so hard inside that he couldn't even remember the last time he had felt any sort of emotion. There was never anyone he let get close to him. It was a necessity if he wanted to earn his father's respect. That never happened.

He wasn't soft at all.

Turning back to his work, he tried to concentrate and work around the frustration. It only took him a minute to realize that was impossible. He reached over and pressed a button on the phone. "Agent Branch. Could you find Ms. Bristow for me? I need to speak with her."

"I'm not sure what you mean, sir."

"I'm not making an absurd request. Even someone as low ranking as you should be able to fulfill my request."

"I'm not sure that's possible. Maybe I should get Ms. Derevko for you."

"Just find Bristow," he screamed. He swept out with his hand and pushed the phone off his desk.

He didn't know where the anger came from. It was almost like it had always been there, brewing under the surface.

Standing up from his desk, he walked out into the hallway. The fact that everyone quickly looked away from where he was standing didn't go unnoticed. It seems word of his anger issues were finally getting around the office.

"Good," he thought. Intimidating was what he strived to be. This current problem would just help strengthen that appearance.

He made his way down the hall and into the bathroom. Turning on the faucet, he splashed a steady stream of cold water onto his face. He usually didn't find it so hard to do his job. The compartmentalizing he had come to rely on over the years was breaking down. He couldn't let that happen.

His dripping reflection stared back at him.

"This is what it always comes back to," he said to himself. "The bruises and the pain you cause me, Sydney."

In an uncharacteristic move, he wiped the water off his face with his jacket sleeve. The only thing it served to do was soak his clothes and leave him with a reddened face. He knew that he couldn't let anyone outside this door see him in a rumpled state, though, so he quickly slid his jacket off and threw it over his arm. Taking a deep breath, he tried to push the color from his cheeks.

Only one person met his eyes when he was making his way back to his office. It was fairly amusing to see Agent Branch freeze in fear and her face pale. It was a reaction he loved getting and the one thing he was willing to thank Irina for. She had taught him how to put the fear of god and death into people just by looking at them.

Sydney was sitting in his desk chair with her legs crossed on top of his desk when he entered the office. He shut the door behind him. "Agent Branch found you. I underestimated her."

"She didn't find me," Sydney said simply.

"You just love to pop in and out of here like you own the place."

"It's not like you aren't happy to see me. This time, I came up here because our conversation from earlier today wasn't done. You're worrying me, Julian."

"How so?" He took a seat on the edge of desk she had chosen earlier to sit on. It was a good position, elevating him to a higher position than her so that she had to look up at him. He should have known there was a reason that she always perched on this spot when she popped in to see him.

"Your anger is out of control." She pointed to the phone on the floor.

"It's just a phone. It's replaceable."

"Some things aren't."

The anger reared up in his eyes. "Do you think I don't know that?" he shouted. "Do you think I don't realize the sacrifice you made?"

She held up her hand. "If you continue to let the anger get the better of you, I won't be able to stay around. A girl has certain standards to uphold."

Sark took a deep breath. "I'm sorry. It's just I don't want you to think I don't realize what's happening."

"That's where I worry." She slid her feet off his desk and leaned towards him. "Do you really know what's happening with you, Julian? Have you ever really known?"

He rolled his eyes and stood up, looking out the window. There was barely any traffic on the streets below for once. Odd. He watched a man cross the street with a little girl in his arms. The girl was crying loudly and pointed to a stray dog sitting on the curb of the other side of the street. He had never understood children.

"I'm sick of the riddles and the questions," he whispered. He felt a hand on his shoulder and knew that she was watching the same scene unfold below as he was.

"The little girl just wants a chance to experience life."

"I think you're wrong." Sark pointed to the dog. "See? It's snarling at the man. My guess is the little girl is being taken away from something she considers her best friend. That man is stealing the girl, not her chance to experience life."

"Isn't it the same?"

Sark turned to her. "I guess so."

"One more question before I leave," Sydney said. She reached down and grasped his bandaged hand, the one he had cut that morning. "Do you know why you're so angry?"

The pain of her prodding fingers on his wound actually soothed him. It gave him a few precious moments of clarity. "I don't understand why you did it," he said simply.

"That's it? This anger is just because you don't understand the choices I made in life?" She dropped his hand. "You're looking for the easy way out. Look deeper." She reached for the door handle.

"You don't have to go," he said, turning back to stare at the window. The man was buying the girl a Popsicle from a vendor while the dog sat at their feet. "Guess we were both wrong," he said, looking up.

He wasn't surprised to find he was alone. She always had slipped in and out like that.

With a sigh, he turned the blinds to block out the sun and the distractions. If he was going to prove to her that he could control his anger, the first step was demonstrating that he could still get his work done.

That step, unfortunately, had to wait a little longer as Irina let herself into his office.

"There's no need to knock," he said in what he deemed a fairly normal tone.

"We need to talk, Julian," she said, sitting down in one of the chairs in front of his desk.

"Everyone seems to want to talk to me today." He paused. "Well, that's not true. Everyone seems to want to avoid even looking at me today. I haven't really figured out why that is yet."

Irina continued to stare at him. "I told you that you didn't have to come in today. I think you need more rest."

"I'm fine," he said through gritted teeth. It was never easy talking to the one woman he would willingly call a friend.

"Have you eaten today?" When she saw him pause to think about his answer, she continued, "See? You are not fine. You can't even remember what day it is."

"I know what day it is."

"That was just a general example, Julian." She grabbed his coat off the chair and tossed it to him. "Why don't you and I go get something to eat and then maybe we can talk a little more about what you need?"

"I know what I need," he said, though he did slip on his jacket. "And what I need doesn't involving talking."

"As your boss, I'm ordering you to talk to me." She sighed. "But as your friend, I really hope that you can tell me what's going on in that head of yours."

"A woman of your talent should be able to intuit that."

Irina walked side by side with him to the elevator. "I usually can, but you've been acting rather odd lately. There's something going on, and I want you to tell me what that is."

"The more you push me, the more I'll turn away." He pushed the ground floor button. "So stop pushing, Irina."

"Just one more push," she said with a wink. She reached over and pushed the bright red emergency stop button on the elevator panel.

"What the hell are you doing?" he yelled as the elevator skidded to a halt abruptly.

Irina reached down into the bag she had been carrying and pulled out two sandwiches. "You and I are having a business lunch without interruptions. This was the only way I could think of to make that happen. Now do you want the ham or the turkey?"

Used to her antics, he reached out and took the ham sandwich. "You're crazy." Smiling, he sat down on the unmoving floor of the elevator.

"Also, it's the only way I could think of to force you to talk with me." Sitting down, she took a bit of her sandwich and chewed for a moment. "Listen, Julian. I think Sydney would have wanted--"

He interrupted her violently. "I will not talk about Sydney. Anything else, but not her."

Irina nodded. "How are you healing?"

"Like I've said before, I'm fine."

"Cuts and bruises will heal eventually if you give them time to do so." She looked purposefully at where his hand had begun to bleed through his bandages. "But you need to do two things. One, stop refusing to rest. And two, stop causing yourself more pain."

"It's the only way I'm sure that I'm still alive," he said softly.

"You never needed that type of assurance before. Is this your way of figuring out if her choice was justified?"

Sark looked up at Irina and sent her a glaring look. "I told you that I would talk about her."

"Fine. Let's talk about your next mission to Thailand then." She pulled out some medical tape from her briefcase and started to rebandage his hand.

He felt himself shift into autopilot as Irina asked him questions about the intel he was set to acquire and what members he was assembling for his team while tending to his wound. It was easy to answer her without putting much thought into what he was saying. It was easy to just slip into what he considered a normal everyday activity. She was making this easy for him. And he was letting her.

After a few more minutes of mindless talk about the job he had to do, they lapsed into a silence that wasn't exactly comfortable but wasn't full of tension. It was also something they had never done in any of the times Sark could recall. Silences made both of them uneasy.

"Did I ever tell you that I was claustrophobic when I was a little girl?" Irina asked absentmindedly.

"No. I can't remember you ever admitting you had a flaw."

"Oh, I don't." She smirked at him. "I had a flaw many years ago, but I have none today."

"That's better." He relaxed back against the wall of the elevator. "So tell me about your claustrophobia."

"I don't know why, but I had a fear of enclosed spaces when I was little. There was nothing in my past that I could think of to make me that fearful. No near drowning or instances of being snowed in. I made the mistake of telling my mother about it, though. I was confused, and I thought she would help me. That's what parents are supposed to do. Helpful isn't exactly what I would label her actions, though."

"What did she do?"

"She asked me to get something out of our cellar. I complained at first. There were mice and other things running around inside there. And it was dark. Basically, it was straight from a nightmare if you're a small seven-year-old girl."

"She locked you inside." It was more of a statement than a question. He had heard stories previously about Irina's childhood, and none of them had happy endings.

"For six frighteningly long hours, yes. I have never been so scared in my life as I was that night." Irina's face suddenly shifted to show the pride she had in herself at that moment. "But I survived. And I got over my fear."

"That's why you made sure that Sydney didn't know who you really were when you staged your own death as Laura Bristow. You didn't want her to feel the same disappointment that you felt for your mother when she didn't live up to your expectations."

Irina sneered. "Now who's bringing up my daughter?"

The slightly happy mood that had been in the elevator while Irina was telling her story was sucked out suddenly. Instantly, the tension came back. "What was the point of your story?" Sark demanded.

"When I watch you, I see the same look on your face that I had when I was locked in that cellar. You're afraid of something, but you won't admit to it."

"I'm not afraid," he said determinately. It took all his strength not to punch something. She had almost tricked him into telling her things that he wasn't ready to speak of. He couldn't.

The elevator shifted and began to move once more. Irina sighed and stood up, brushing off her skirt. "I guess not." As the doors crept open, she turned back to look at the man she considered a son. "Don't be stubborn like I taught you. Sometimes you need to accept things so that you can move on. It was a gift she gave you. Don't let it be in vain."

Sark watched Irina step out into the front lobby. He was coming to realize just how much there was he still didn't know about her. But then again, she didn't know everything there was to him. In the world they lived in, secrets were the only thing that kept you alive.

He pressed the button for the forty-seventh floor. It was time to get back to work.

The rest of the day was a blur. He surrendered himself to doing research and checking out contacts. It was his usual pre-mission protocol, but this time he found himself being a little more thorough. He ignored the frustration and anger that kept creeping into his brain, pushing himself more and more into his work.

For the first time in his life, the force that was driving him was a need to forget.

Before he knew it, his office had fallen into darkness as the sun set. He checked the clock and was surprised to find that he had worked an hour past his normal closing down time. It was a nice feeling to know that he wasn't completed control by his emotions all of the time.

Controlled by his emotions. That was funny.

He grabbed his jacket and began to make his way to the parking garage while thinking over that weird concept. Growing up he learned to have no emotions. Emotions were what got you killed. Emotions weren't something to be proud of. They were signs of weakness. And weakness wasn't allowed in his family. So when did he start having them? At what moment had they formed? And when did he start letting them control his every move?

The answer to that was simple.

And currently leaning up against his car.

"Happy to see me, tiger?" Sydney said, cocking an eyebrow.

He didn't answer, just kept walking towards his BMW. The locks opened with a satisfying click. Instead of opening the door and sliding inside, he leaned his elbows on the hood and looked across the way at her. "I thought you would have gone home by now."

"You didn't want me to," she said simply. She leaned in against the roof in the same position he was.

"Itching for another attempt at a heart to heart, Sydney?"

She shook her head and just stared at him. "Are you ever going to admit the real reason I'm here with you?"

He smirked. "And what reason would that be?"

She pushed off the car and started to seductively stroll over to where he stood. When she was inches away from him, she leaned in and whispered, "I think you know, Julian."

He turned so that they were eye to eye. She didn't deserve a response to that.

"You're hiding," she said, stepping back. "You're afraid to accept it."

"Am I? And what would I be hiding from?"

"The truth. Your emotions. Pick one." She reached up and touched his cheek gently. He closed his eyes and instinctively leaned in to her touch.

"You're not really here," he whispered.

"You want me to be here. So here I am. That's all that matters." She rubbed his cheek lightly with her thumb. "We always were good for each other, weren't we?"

"I believed that." To his credit, he didn't flinch or jump when she leaned her head down and brushed her lips against his lightly. He didn't push her any farther than she wanted to go. Relinquishing control was a hard thing for him to do, but he found, with her, he didn't mind so much.

"This isn't real," he said, moving away slightly.

"You have to accept it, Julian. I'm the person that can make you feel."

"I'm not capable of feeling."

"But you want me to try to get you to feel all the same."

He saw the flash in her eyes moments before she pushed him back a little too roughly, and he hit the side of his car, causing the familiar pain from his bruises to flare back up. The feeling of her teeth lightly nibbling his bottom lip, her hands on his chest searching and teasing, and the gentle flicker of pain was almost too much for him. Real or not, this is what he wanted. Grabbing her head forcefully, he took the kiss to a darker place.

With a start, he suddenly realized what he was doing and backed away from her.

"I don't understand," she said, her brow furrowed in concern. "What's wrong?" He just shook his head, refusing to look at her, to even acknowledge that she stood in front of him. She rolled her eyes. "This is why I've been telling you that you need to deal with what happened between us on your last mission."

"I don't know what you're referring to," he said forcefully. He was lying, and she knew it. He knew that she knew it.

"Forget it. It doesn't matter right now." She leaned in and kissed him lightly. That small touch made the desire flick back up into his eyes. "Aren't you even the least bit curious about where this could go?"

"I know where it could go. And it's somewhere you don't want."

"How do you know it's not what I want? You've never asked."

"I know you, Sydney. This is not what you want. Nor is it what you deserve." He looked at her seriously. "What you always wanted was the picket fence and two point five kids. You wanted a normal life. That would never happen if we got involved."

"That's what everyone thought I wanted. They never really asked me." She walked around to the other side of the car. Looking at him over the top of the BMW, she said decisively, "What I always wanted was someone to see who I really was and love me for being that person. I was stupid not to realize before that the only person who could do that for me was you."

He looked down at the ground. Those were the words he hadn't know he had been waiting to hear. But there they were, hanging in the air between them, ready to be replayed over and over in his mind.

He was never ashamed to admit the kind of man he was. But at this precise moment, for the first time in over ten years, that's exactly what he was. Ashamed. "I can't do that, Sydney. I'm not the man you need."

"You might not be the man I need, but you're the man I want. Isn't that enough?"

He looked her in the eyes for a moment. Then he smiled for the first time in a long while. "Sometimes you really make me want to give in to the fantasy."

"Then why don't you do it for once?" She stood back and waited for him to open the car door for her.

He hesitated for a second. He had never let himself go this far in his bantering with her. What would happen if he gave in just this once?

Figuring it was worth a shot, no matter how much damage it did to his psyche, he surrendered himself to her. He walked calmly to the other side of the car and held the door open for her. She gave him a wink before settling down into the seat. Two seconds later, the tires were screeching as he surrendered himself to the overpowering exhilaration of speed.

He drove in silence, not even chancing a look at the woman sitting by his side. This whole experience was surreal, almost as if he was imagining the whole thing. But every time he let himself believe that, she would stir a little in her seat, a constant reminder that she was sitting next to him. Like she had said, it was where he wanted her to be.

By the time they reached his home, it was raining. Not a good sign for what they were about to embark on. He parked the car and ran around the other side to open the door for her. There was a woman on the first floor of the complex staring out her window at him with a strange look on her face. He sneered at her and was happy to see her face go pale as she closed the curtain.

Intimidation was the one thing he could always count on.

Sydney still hadn't said a word to him. It was funny how she almost knew that talking would ruin the whole thing. If they started in on another one of their argument/discussions, things definitely wouldn't turn out how he wanted. She let him lead her into the building and to the elevator. It was strange to see her relinquish control to him so much. It made him uneasy.

When he pressed the button for the penthouse, she looked at him quizzically.

"I'm a man who will only stand for the best," he said simply as the elevator began to move.

"I would expect no less," she said, staring straight ahead.

"What are we doing?" he asked as the elevator shifted to a standstill on the top floor.

"I don't know," she said before stepping out into his home. "That's for you to decide." He watched her slowly walk around the room, touching a piece of furniture or a picture frame here and there. She appreciated his home, he could tell that almost immediately.

Somehow, he had known that she would.

She turned back to face him. "You look tired, Julian."

"I am." He felt the words come out but didn't register the weakness in them until it was too late. "I've been through a lot in the past two days." 

"So have I." She pointed at the door to her left. "Is this the way to your bedroom?"

He nodded and watched her make her way into his inner sanctum. This whole scene was becoming almost surreal. His cell phone rang, snapping him away from his thoughts. Flipping it open, he recognized Irina's number. "I have to take this," he called out as he made his way to the kitchen and a façade of privacy.

"Julian, where are you?" Irina said before he could even get out a hello.

"I'm at home. Where did you think I was?"

He could hear her let out a loud sigh. "Nowhere. I was just worried."

"I told you earlier that I was fine, Irina. I wish you would believe me."

"I wish you would give me a reason to believe you." She paused. "I don't want you to come into work tomorrow."

"What?" he yelled, rather surprised at her sudden demand. "I have a mission I spent all day planning that is set to be executed tomorrow. The idea of me not coming in is absurd."

"I'll have Agent Lee or Agent Masters fill in."

"Lee and Masters are incompetent beginners. There's no way they could handle an assignment of this magnitude. The thought that you'd even consider it is ridiculous. Anyway, there's no reason that you can't send me."

"I have my reasons," Irina said briskly. "Don't forget that though I may be your friend, I'm also your boss. You have issues that you need to work through before I'm going to send you out into the field. You're a liability. Once you get over that, we'll talk about your status as an agent. Until then, no arguments."

The anger he had been suppressing all day began to bubble up inside of him. "You are not my mother, Irina. You don't have to coddle me."

"I'm not. Believe it or not, I'm doing this for selfish reasons. Because I practically raised you to be the man you are today. I have a right to care about you."

He sighed and rubbed his face. He could just feel the signs of fatigue coming back to the surface of his face. There was something nagging at him gently from the inside. He chose to ignore it.

"Julian, get some rest. I want to hear from you in the morning."

"Yes, mother," he spit out before slamming the phone shut. He had no idea where she got off playing a role that she had never showed any interest in before. Then again, it was that audacity and level of unpredictability that peeked his interest in her all those years ago. It was the same peeked interest that currently had Irina's daughter sitting by herself in his bedroom.

Sighing, he set the phone down on the kitchen counter. He wasn't about to have Irina interrupting another moment of his night. Glancing out the window, he noticed that the night looked as dead as the day had been. There was no sign of movement on the streets below.

He tore his glance away from the kitchen window and, taking a few deep breaths, made his way down the hall to his bedroom.

He half expected it to be empty.

There was a woman's coat thrown onto his floor. Right next to it was a pair of stiletto heels. Several of the objects on his dresser had been touched and moved subtly. Someone had done some exploring and hadn't taken the time to hide the fact. The minor detail that she had also set her gun down on the dresser next to where he usually set his didn't bother him in the least. He would worry about how she knew that little fact later.

The woman in question was lying on his bed, half asleep. She held out her hand for him to take. "Come lay down with me, Julian," she said.

He found himself unable to refuse her, even though this type of activity was just a little too intimate for his liking. He wasn't even sure if bringing her back to his home had been the right decision. For all he knew, she was setting him up to take a fall. That was the kind of thing she was good at. In fact, he was pretty certain that this was all a set-up, though he had no idea who was doing the setting.

Stretching himself out on the bed, he felt her nuzzle her back into him slightly. Almost on instinct, he slipped his arm around her and pulled her even closer. She turned her head and smiled back at him. "This is exactly what you need," she whispered.

"Sleep?" he said with a heavy-eyed smile. He was surprised at how easily he had let go and welcomed the fatigue he had been fighting all day. Usually he could resist the depressing feelings that his work forced down upon him with a little more ease. He was willing to admit, though, that lately it had been a lot harder. Actually, it was bordering on impossible.

She shook her head. "Let go, Julian. Please."

He didn't have time to fully understand what she was trying to say before sleep claimed him.

His dreams were fitful. There were flashes of memory and fantasy that he couldn't understand. They were flying at him too quickly. He couldn't figure out what was real and what was false.

Sydney was standing in front of him in a Japanese kimono with such hatred in her eyes. It was easy to see that it was directed right at him.

Real.

He was laughing at her from behind a piece of bulletproof glass as she admitted that she had been lost for the past two years. He mocked her pain.

Real.

Sydney was standing with her hands on a young child shoulders. She was waving at someone. He thought it was him. The sun's rays bounced off the large diamond ring on her left hand. The young child was yelling something at him. It sounded like Daddy.

False.

Sydney was kissing him. Only she looked like Lauren. But he could tell that it was her. He knew it was her. There was pain in his face and his arm. Michael Vaughn had tortured him. But Sydney was kissing him. That was all that really mattered.

False. At least he thought it was false. But maybe it was true. Did he really know that was Sydney behind the mask?

A woman in a maroon wig was singing to him. She ran her hand lightly along his cheek as he realized that it was Sydney. For once, she wasn't looking at him with hate in her eyes. But then she didn't really know him, did she?

Real.

He was standing on a mountain arguing with Sydney. She got mad and hit him repeatedly in his ribs. When he tried to fight back, she smashed him hard with the butt of her gun across the right side of his face. That will definitely bruise in the morning. He was screaming at her, trying to explain what he was doing there. He wasn't supposed to be there, was he? Something wasn't right.

Real. False. He was starting to lose his sense of sureness.

Sydney was still hitting him on the side of the mountain. She wouldn't listen to what he was saying. He couldn't get her to believe that he had been doing it all for her. Her eyes locked on something behind him, and they shared a look. He didn't know what it meant, but he knew it was important. There was something more that he couldn't quite focus on.

With a crash of lightning, Sark sat straight up in bed. He looked around the room wildly, for what he wasn't really sure at first. And then he remembered. He was looking for Sydney. She had come home with him that evening.

Hadn't she?

He didn't see her coat or shoes on the floor any longer. There was only one gun sitting on his dresser. His. There wasn't one sign that she had ever been there.

Of course she hadn't really been there. That was what his brain was screaming. That's what everything around him was screaming. He was practically pleading with himself to focus. To accept something. She had said something to him before he fell asleep. Something important.

With a frustrated sigh, he stood up and walked over to the liquor cabinet in the corner. Pouring himself a whiskey, he stalked back to the bed and sat down. He had never been more confused in his life.

He felt his hand absentmindedly stretch to pull something out from beneath his pillow before he realized what he was doing. In his hand was a torn and battered strip of cloth. With horror, he realized that it was caked in blood. He had no idea where it had come from. Had he blocked it out?

He rushed over to his closet, drink still in hand, and ruffled through the clothes until he located his combat gear. The sleeve was ripped rather harshly. There was a definite section missing. It was his cloth, but he didn't have any scraps on his body.

He looked over at the mirror on the wall. Something in his eyes flashed as the walls in his brain finally collapsed. He was flooded with memory. Something he had been repressing all morning. The details were finally there.

Sydney had been in danger. He had gone to her aid without telling anyone. He didn't want anyone to know that he had finally let himself care for another person. He didn't even want her to know. It wasn't something he had been raised to be proud of.

But she had quickly figured out he was tailing her, and she confronted him. When he wouldn't give her the real reason why he was there, she hit him. Repeatedly. But that was all normal protocol.

What wasn't normal was the look they had shared. They had been arguing one moment, him trying to get her to believe that he was only there to make sure she was safe and she not willing to believe a monster like him would be capable of showing such concern. Then she had looked over his shoulder, and her face went pale.

She looked back at him, and suddenly he knew she had been lying to him. She understood why he was there. He wasn't the monster she had always proclaimed him to be. That had all been a lie she told herself to keep him at arm's length.

And then there was a shove on his left side pushing him down to the ground and a gunshot.

He turned in time to see her wince in pain before crumpling to the ground. Almost by instinct, he took out his gun and shot the man who had fired in their direction. He didn't have to look back to know that he had killed him.

Never fully turning away from where she had stood, he saw her lying on the ground, wincing in pain. He ripped a piece of his shirt off and pressed it to the wound in her abdomen. It was an elementary field tactic, but it was all he could think of to do.

There were screams all around him. He didn't realize at first that they were coming from his own mouth. He had never panicked before. This was all new to him.

And then she was looking up at him with a look of resignation on her face. "You're a good person, Julian. I've always known that."

Then she was gone.

Sark snapped out of his memories quickly. His face was still reflecting in the mirror, and it disgusted him. Without a thought, he threw his glass of whiskey, shattering the mirror into a hundred pieces. He could still see the look on his face though.

Suddenly unable to support his weight, his knees gave out and he fell to the floor. He was still grasping the scrap of cloth in his hand. It was the last piece of Sydney that he had.

"Why did you do that, Bristow? I don't understand how you could leave me like that," he choked out. He felt the anger flare up again and he let loose a torrential scream. He screamed until he felt his throat go raw. There was so much frustration inside of him that he couldn't force it out. It was too hard.

Sydney Bristow had been the one person in his whole life he had cared for. She had slowly forced him to start to feel again after he thought he was completely dead inside. And now she was the one that was dead inside.

Because of him, she was dead. If he hadn't been there, she wouldn't have been so distracted. If he hadn't been there, she would have been able to see that guard coming. She had always been the best agent he had ever met. The good agents don't die from a bullet fired by an incompetent minion who had one lucky moment in his pathetic, miserable life.

In life, she had always been his greatest weakness, his only weakness. And it turned out that in death, he was hers.

Looking down at the mess he had made of the room and of his life, one question kept running through his head over and over again. How could she have left him like that?

He felt the tears he had been denying for days now finally fall down his cheek. It was time to finally accept that she was gone from his life. Whatever they could have had together wasn't ever going to occur. That possibility was gone, lost to him forever.

He got up off the floor and walked into the bathroom. He splashed water on his face and made a resolution to tell Irina what was going on when she called him in the morning. It would kill him to let go of the last few ties he had with Sydney, but he owed her that much. Irina would understand.

Sydney's last words had been to tell him that she believed he was a good person. It touched him to realize that she really had meant what she said.

Standing up, he looked for something, a broom or some type of cleaning tool, to start in on the mess he had made. Something had shifted inside of him. There was something he now knew. There was a purpose to his life for the first time in twenty-three years.

He would make sure that her final words were true if it was the last thing he did.

He owed her that much.

* * *

* * *

Playground school bell rings again  
Rain clouds come to play agains  
Has no one told you she's not breathing?  
Hello, I'm your mind giving you someone to talk to  
Hello

If I smile and don't believe  
Soon I know I'll wake from this dream  
Don't try to fix me I'm not broken  
Hello, I'm the lie living for you so you can hide.  
Don't cry

Suddenly I know I'm not sleeping  
Hello I'm still here  
All that's left of yesterday

"Hello", Evanescence


End file.
